Page 37 of Hex and the City
“Because aliases, Max,” I said, getting more and more agitated. “That’s why it bothers me. There could be aliases on there, and then what? What were we thinking? This was a terrible idea from the start. Roscoe’s a really nice guy, but he kind of screwed us on this one.”
“He didn’t. We took it on good faith that this luxury brand really meant limited edition when they said limited edition. They were going for scarcity. A hundred bottles in the first batch, they said, only for the very elite, and everyone else would have to wait several months until the next run.” Max’s eyes went distant. “They even had tiny horns on the limited edition bottle. You know, becausediablo? A devil? I was supposed to get one.”
“Why are you giving me their press release? Who gives a shit about their marketing?” I clapped my hands as I enunciated the words. “Even with a hundred names, we would still be fucked, Max.”
“Doesn’t matter either way. It’ll take us forever to find any useful data in this. And by then, that fucker who stole the bag will have set off another anomaly, and another. And the Masques will be on our asses again.” Max pushed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, groaning as he paced the floor. “Fuck.” The second time he used the word, he stretched it out into a billion syllables. “Fuck!”
I hissed at him. “Will you stop yelling already? And shut this computer down. You might be okay with it but I don’t want to be leaving fingerprints all over the place.”
“Yeah. Fuck. Whatever. Hold on.”
He pulled a tiny USB drive out of his pocket, copying the spreadsheet before he powered the computer down. I didn’t even think of that. Was I really that bad at being a finder, or again, was this guy really an actual, experienced criminal?
“Done,” he said, scratching the back of his neck as he waited for the monitor to flicker off. “Okay. Whatever. Let’s just get out of here if you’re in such a damn hurry.”
I lingered by the counter, frowning. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Just that you’d think you’d be more interested in getting something out of tonight, considering it’s pretty much your fault that — ”
“Don’t say it,” I snarled, jabbing my finger at his chest. “Or say it. Go ahead. I dare you to finish that sentence, Drake.”
He rolled his shoulders back, powerful muscles rippling under his skin. He stepped closer, his chest straining through his ridiculous body-hugging tank top. His smell filled what little space was left between us, a sharp, clean, masculine scent. Aftershave, deodorant, or one of his fancy, stupid, limited edition colognes, mingled with traces of his sweat.
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to fight him or fuck him.
“You’ve been a pain in my ass since the night I met you,” he muttered. “And you’re being a pain in my ass now.”
How I found the courage to move even closer, to step up to all six-foot-something of Max’s muscle and musk and anger, I would never know.
“And what exactly are you going to do about it?” I asked.
His fingers reached for my throat. His grip was strong, and yet gentle and loose. The dissonance caught me off guard long enough for him to close in, to place a hand on my hip.
Maximilian Drake kissed me.
18
MAX
What the fuck was I doing? I could have punched him in the face. I could have grabbed him by the collar to threaten him. But no. I had to go and do the one thing that would cause even more trouble for us both.
His fingertips dug into my biceps, not to push me away, but as if to hold me in place. Like talons, like the claws of the dragon he’d used to scare me the night we met. I remembered wanting to wring his neck. I tried harder to remember whether I’d already felt this way about him then, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin against mine, wanting to taste him.
It was worth the wait. He matched me in every way, every sweep of my tongue, every hungering, desperate press of my lips. This was a competition to him, a way to show me that he could take whatever I threw at him, return every pleasurable action with equal force.
On my chest, his fingers clawed possessively around a handful of my shirt. His mewls and starving whimpers, the small, defiant growls in the back of his throat. There was a ferocity to Leon’s body, to his touch, that told me just how much he wanted me. And it made me want him even more.
His thigh pressed against my crotch, insistent, demanding. I pulled away.
“Fuck,” I breathed, taking a full step back, stumbling when I bumped against the counter. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Leon stepped forward, angry. “What? Sorry for what? Finish what you started, Drake.”
He grabbed at my belt, tugged hard. I gasped as he took control of our push and pull. A single decisive motion and he’d tipped the balance of power. Why was that so fucking hot?
“We shouldn’t,” I said, a blubbering, nervous virgin in the blink of an eye. “Not here, at least.”
“Then where? Then when?” He thumped me on the chest, glaring so hard I nearly turned away. “You and your stupid stolen glances and those teasing things you say. You pushing your cock against my ass, expecting me not to think about it? Don’t string me along, Max. You want this as bad as I do. Your mouth isn’t the only thing I want to taste.”
